Fatal Bargain by Caroline B. Cooney Page A

sixteen-year-old son had not brought the family car home. “He was told to be here now, or else!” said the father.
    “Now, Dad,” said their other child. She was eighteen and sympathetic to lateness. “He’ll be home in a minute. Don’t panic.”
    “I am not panicking, Ginny. I am furious. Your brother is dead.”
    “No, he’s not,” said Ginny reassuringly. “He’s fine.”
    “I don’t mean he’s lying dead in a road somewhere,” shouted the father. “I mean, I’m gonna kill him! I told him to get that car home by nine or die. So he’s dead.” The father stormed back and forth in the tiny front hall. “I should never have let him get his driver’s license. I’m taking it away the minute he walks in the door. He’s dead.”
    “Now, Dad,” said Ginny. “You and Mom haven’t missed much of the party. The Kramers will party till dawn, you know that. If you don’t get there for another few minutes, it won’t be the end of the world.”
    “It’ll be the end of your brother’s world,” said the father. “He was told he could take the car for the first half of the evening but we had to have it for the second half. If he ruins our weekend, I’m ruining his year .”
    Ginny thought she saw a way to get something good out of this situation. “The moral of the story,” she said cheerfully, “is that our family should have a second car.” She smiled hopefully.
    Her parents gave her a tight-lipped glare.
    Oh, well, thought Ginny. Worth a try.
    Out in the driveway a car appeared. But it was not her missing brother. It was Ginny’s date. “Jordan and I could drop you at your party, if you want, Dad.”
    Her father refused to be mollified. “Your mother and I will wait, thank you, until your worthless brother gets here.”
    Her date bounded up to the door. Jordan was one of these courteous-to-adults types, who wanted to hear the whole story. “Are you worried about your son’s safety?” asked Jordan, getting deeply concerned and worried himself.
    “The time to worry about my brother’s safety,” said Ginny dryly, “will be when he gets home.”
    “Yes, of course, we’re worried!” said Ginny’s mother. “This just is not like him! He’s a very responsible boy!”
    Ginny rolled her eyes. There was no such thing as a very responsible boy.
    Jordan said, “Hey, no problem. Ginny and I will cruise around and find him.”
    Ginny, who had been looking forward to something else entirely, was quite irritated. “Really,” she said, “I’m sure he’s fine. He’ll be here in a minute.”
    “I’d like that, Jordan,” said Ginny’s mother. “I am genuinely worried. He knows what his father would do to him if he’s late tonight. He knows how important it is. So why isn’t he here? Anything could have happened! He could have had an accident! He could be bleeding somewhere!” Ginny’s mother had worked herself up into tears. “He could have been stolen away! We’ll never see him again.”
    Ginny tried to bring a little reality to the situation. “Mom. He’s six-two. He lifts weights. He could bench press an SUV. Nobody stole him away. We’re going to see him again. Probably in five minutes.”
    But Ginny’s date loved this kind of thing. He loved action and heroism. Jordan would much rather cruise the entire city and all its suburbs tracking down a lost child than go to a party where somebody had rented a movie he had probably already seen, and then order pizza, which, after all, he had just eaten for lunch. The fact that the lost child was bigger and stronger than Jordan was did not matter.
    “We’ll find him,” Jordan promised. “Don’t worry! We’ll look everywhere!” He took Ginny’s hand and bounded with her back to the car. Full of enthusiasm, he switched on the engine, revved the motor, crammed the gearshift into first, and left a patch on the street. “Where do we start?” he said happily. He was already looking left and right, peering behind shrubs and picket